


Stop start stay

by GeometryOfTime



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, M/M, Oral Sex, Sibling Incest, lots of come-based (bad) puns, mentioned underage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-10
Updated: 2020-08-10
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:00:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25822516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GeometryOfTime/pseuds/GeometryOfTime
Summary: “I have come in my eye.”And of course the line falls silent for a few moments.“Come again?”
Relationships: Diego Hargreeves/Klaus Hargreeves
Comments: 11
Kudos: 163





	Stop start stay

**Author's Note:**

> This features siblings incest. Either adoptive siblings, or siblings via whatever kind of alien spawned the lot of them; take your pick. But yes, this is fictional incest about fictional characters in a fictional setting.
> 
>   
> It’s set some time before S1. It is also my first fic in the fandom! Yay!
> 
> Thanks to lokiskliego for the beta and to spikeymarshmallows for the hand-holding! <3

“Klaus-Haus, go for the man himself.”

“Hey Klaus.”

“Hey Diego, what’s up?”

Breathe in, breathe out. Clench teeth. Try not to think of the searing pain. 

Yeah, okay so maybe think of the searing pain, because it’s hard not to.

“I have come in my eye.”

And of course the line falls silent for a few moments.

“Come again?”

Then giggles, snorts and laughter.   
  
“Sorry, I thought you said- did you say you have come in your eye?” Diego can hear the breathless heaves of laughter from the other end of the line and thinks maybe he should hang up. Fine, he’ll call Luther.

Nope. No way.

He sighs.

“Yes. There’s been an-” Accident? “incident.”

More incredulous laughter.

“Klaus I swear to god if you don’t stop laughing-”

“Yeah yeah sorry, okay; I know Spunky Vision is a bitch, how can I help? I mean, I don’t think you called me to brag? Wait, did you-”

“What do I do, man? I think it’s getting infected; it hurts like a motherfucker.”

“Yeah, it does that.”

“Really? It’s not just the eyeball though, the whole thing is getting swollen; I’ve looked better after getting sucker-punched.”

“It’s probably fine, though. Did you wash it with water?”   
  
“Of fucking course? Why would you think-...”   
  
“I mean, I don’t know. You’re the one who’s almost thirty and apparently has never had semen in his eyes before.”   
  
“Wh- You’re saying it like it’s an inherent occurrence that just comes with age.”

“Well not really but, like. You have the gun, you know? How can you be surprised that bullet wounds hurt?”

“What?”

“You never came in your eye before?”

“...you have??”

“Well, I mean. Yeah? It’s been known to happen. I know you’ve been sixteen too, I remember how gross my teenage years have been.”

“Yeah, sadly I remember that too; isn’t that why Pogo had locks put in for our doors? Anyway—back to my fucking burning eyeball. Just water? It feels like the kind of thing you’d see a doctor for.”

“Nah, trust me. Loads of water, if you have saline, use that. Keep things clean, and you’ll regain your 20-20, come-free vision in just a short, ehhh, 6-8 hours.”

“Jesus, 6-8 hours? What the fuck?”

“Look I never timed it, okay? Just go to sleep, you’ll be fine in the morning. Now, how did this happen exactly?”   
  
“Klaus.”

“No, I am not letting this drop. I need deets.”

“Deets.”

“Deets, Didi. Dirty deets. Dish!”

“I didn’t close my eyes in time.”

“Well no fucking duh. Why? Caught by surprise?”

“No.”

“...then?”

“You’re not going to let this drop, are you? Fine. I wanted to see.”

“Wait, so this wasn’t a self-injury? There was someone there? Someone who had a penis, all cocked and-”

“Yes.”

“Oh my god? And who’s this magical guy that came in your eye and then- I presume, he left you to deal all in your lonesome with your Optical Chlamydia-”

“With my what?”

“Just kidding, there’s a very small chance of getting STIs via getting spunked in the eye.”

“Are you fucking kidding me.”

“Did you not pay attention to the reproductive education lessons that dear old dad provided?”   
  
“I did;  _ you _ clearly didn’t. If you had you’d know we didn’t cover this particular scenario.”

“Pfff. Whatever, you should know all that; you’re an adult and hardly a virgin. I mean, I’m inferring, but-”

“Why are we even talking about this anymore? Just- thank you. I’ll let the tap run over my eye, I’m sure that’ll do it.”

“God, now I really want to see.”

“Ew Klaus, no.”

“Ew,  _ Diego _ . And yes. Are you at the gym?”

“I am now but don’t you da-”

And the line went dead. 

Diego looks at his phone for a second, then throws it on the table and goes to find his first aid kit, hoping to still have saline. 

  
  
  
“Wow, it’s really red.”

“No shit. Why are you here.”

“To see for myself I guess? And to congratulate you for your, I presume, first foray into the world of gay sex. Yay, congrats!” He’s doing jazz hands, because of course he is, while pacing through the small space, looking everywhere without actually paying attention to anything. 

Diego huffs. 

“I mean, thank you for basically choosing me to come out to?”   
  
“There’s no coming out, I was never  _ in _ to come out of--”

“Yeah, that’s definitely not the kind of coming that’s bothering you right now.”

“You know, it was a bad idea to come to you for this. Don’t laugh; jesus, what are you, fifteen?”

“No but I mean, there’s a lot of coming jokes and what kind of person would I be if I resisted puns?”

“Coming jokes, huh? Yeah, I’m looking at one right now.” Klaus snorts. “And if you don’t stop it, you’ll definitely be a going joke too.”

“Fine, fine, hermano.” He throws his hands up in surrender. “Do you need any assistance with the Herpes-vision?”

“Jeez. Do you think I should get tested?”

“It wouldn’t hurt? Also, who was the guy? Why did he come and, basically, go?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Come oooon Diego. Didi. Brother of mine. Talk to me.” 

Klaus drapes himself across Diego’s bed, fishing a joint from the inside pocket of his coat—why was he still wearing a coat, he was inside— Diego shakes his head and winces again at the searing pain in his eye. 

“It was a spur of the moment thing.”   
  
“Was he hot? I bet he was hot.”

Diego just glowers, as much as he can given his current state. He probably should have listened to his first instinct, which was to  _ not _ call Klaus.

“I’m really curious as to what your type is. Oh god please let it be a bear! A big, cuddly and leather-clad bear.”

“No. We’re not discussing this.”

“We are, though. You can’t just dump this on me and expect me to drop it.”

“Watch me.”

“You know,” Klaus continues to pat his pockets until he finds a lighter, lighting the joint and only managing one drag before Diego pinches it from his lips and throws it underfoot. “Hey!” He throws his hands up.

“None of that. Not here, not with me.”

“Fuck you. Fine.” The lightheartedness in his eyes seems to have slowly morphed into a restrained anger. “You know, I distinctly remember you telling me that you weren’t into guys.”

And that- Diego feels the words rather than hears them, and all he wants to do is to get further away from them. He turns, shaking his head, moving away from the bed, trying to put some distance between them. 

“Or was that just me?”

“No. We’re not doing this.” 

“You know what? Let’s. Let’s do this, mister  _ ‘I was never in the closet except I can’t do this, Klaus, I’m not into guys’.  _ Look at me.”

Breathe in, breathe out, keep the anger in check. Easy, Diego. But no, it wasn’t easy. Some things are swept under the rug and are left there for a reason. He does not turn, can not turn, but Klaus is right there, suddenly up, one hand on Diego’s shoulder, urging him to do so. 

“No.” 

“Fuck,  _ yes. _ Yes! Do you even know-” There’s a loud exhale and Diego realizes Klaus wasn’t going to stop. “Do you know what that did to me?”

So he turns, and there is Klaus, eyes downcast, a fiery, angry look before he screws his eyes shut and rubs at them with his fingers. Diego still can’t believe it’s happening, he’s getting  _ communicative Klaus - _ such a shy side of him, especially when it was needed the most. Not at all shy to come out at the worst of times, it seems. Diego’s not prepared for it, not at all.

“I couldn’t-  _ We _ couldn’t.” He shakes his head some more. He hadn’t thought this through.

Finally Klaus meets his eyes, and he’s calm now. No, not calm, he’s placid, blank. Defeated.

"We couldn’t, huh? And you had that revelation after the how many-eth handy under the blankets?”

“We’re brothers.”

Klaus laughs, a sharp, fake laughter.

“Are we though? Are we brothers? We were raised as soldiers, as science experiments, not as a family. Yeah, don’t bring Grace or Pogo into this; yeah, they did their best but no, we’re not brothers. Brothers in arms—or superpowers, whatever— sure. But don’t give me that brother shit. I know you know.”

“Klaus.” A plea. A warning.

“I know you pride yourself with making it on your own, and I’m sure that somehow you believe that you have, and that you’re some sort of a functioning adult now. And sure, it’s easy to see why you’d believe that, what with Allison rumoring her way through life, Luther being stuck in the past, unable to break through the fucking conditioning and me? A druggie fuckup. I know you’re not even thinking about Vanya, because that’s how much you  _ really _ care all about family, isn’t it? Your family is the Umbrella Academy, and that doesn’t exist anymore. It’s just us, former kids, scattered as far from that hellhole as we possibly could.’ He takes a second, just a second and Diego hopes that it was it, that he’s stopped talking, but he starts again.

“Family. Did you ever go back, to talk to Luther? To try and understand him. Or Allison, when was the last time you talked to her? I know you’ve let me crash here on a couple of occasions, and while I’m, like, super grateful and all, did you ever, and I mean  _ ever _ ask how I was? Did you ever check up on me after I was gone? No, you didn’t. None of you did.”

“I was-”

“Yeah yeah, I was too. We all were. We’re royally fucked up, all of us. We got more issues than Vogue. So really,” he grabs Diego’s face, and for some reason, he allows it. “Don’t talk to me about brothers. You know this now, and you knew it then.”

“I didn’t know jack shit back then! We were kids! We were- we were trained, we were conditioned, some of us downright tortured— I don’t have to tell  _ you _ any of this crap. What did we know about healthy relationships? I got overwhelmed. I didn’t have words for what was happening.” He’s not sure he does now, either. “Don’t pretend like we could have talked about it like adults, because you’re right: we’ve grown up but we’re not grown-ups. We don’t know how to be. Look, I’m sorry, I didn’t think-”

“Yeah, nobody thinks. Nobody thinks about Klaus. And no, don’t give me that look, this isn’t a woe is me. This is my life. Do you know what it’s like to have no one, absolutely no one take you seriously? You all saw me. You were there, at least at the start. You were all there. And do you know who’s the only one who actually gave a shit? It was Ben. And I’m not sure he didn’t do it only because he didn’t have a choice. I was alone, even when surrounded by ‘family’. And the one person who gave me the time of day, who held me at night, who asked if I was okay after Reginald’s regularly scheduled fucking torture, even you. You pushed me away with your shitty excuses.”

Diego’s shoulders slump. He regrets ever picking up the phone that evening. Suffering in silence would be preferred to whatever the fuck was going on.

“You abandoned me too, Diego, and I think yours was the betrayal that hurt the most. But hey, I’m glad you’re better now. Glad you’re finally allowing yourself to be who you are. I’m sincerely happy for you. But I’m also angry, I’m fucking seething, and you can’t deny me that.”

It fizzled down, Klaus’ anger, as soon as he said it. He’s not angry, he’s hurt. He shakes his head, turning around, coat tails whooshing behind him as he plops himself on the bed again.

“We’re fucked up. We’re all fucked up, but we’re not fucked up together. We’re not a family, Diego. A family cares, a family worries, a family asks and helps. We’re strangers who went to the same fucking bootcamp together as kids, and who fucked off as soon as it was possible.” 

He’s still talking, and now it’s Diego who’s honing into that anger. Klaus is still talking, is still peeling layers and layers off, and Diego can’t take it. 

“And you think I wasn’t hurt?” 

At least this shuts Klaus up.

“Seeing you slip away like that. Seeing you throw yourself headfirst into self-destruction with all the dedication that Reginald would have  _ loved _ to see you put into his fucking training. You think it didn’t hurt to see you refuse help? Because you did, don’t kid yourself that we denied you the help you asked for. You acted like you needed none of us. You pushed us away first, Klaus, don’t pretend like-”

“Like what? What did you think  _ we _ were doing? Did you really think we were just measuring dicks? Did you think I went for mutual masturbation because I’d gotten tired of solo performances? I didn't push you away then, it was you who left. You know what? Fuck you.”

It was madness, and Diego knows it. He knows it as he stands at the foot of the bed, looking at Klaus, angry eyes, green highlighted by the smudged kohl, coiled muscles betraying exactly how calm he wasn’t. And yeah, it was all excuses back then. It was something big, something that his broken, teenage brain couldn’t make sense of; the want, the curiosity, the guilt, the shame. More, way more than he could parse, and it wasn’t fair that he was expected to make sense of it then. Nothing in his life made sense, not by any sort of standard; and lusting for his fucking brother, whichever way you defined it, was pretty high on the list of things that Diego couldn’t handle. Not then, but especially-

Especially not now.

It’s the calm before the storm, that pivotal moment, a capsule of quiet containing in itself the storm. Diego looks at Klaus, who looks right back at him, and it feels like he knows what’s going to happen. They both know, but neither wants to be the first to make a move.

In the end it’s Diego who leans down, slow and with a burning grain of pain weighing on his chest. The smallest tilt of Klaus’ head is the only hint that he shouldn’t stop, so he doesn’t. He doesn’t think, he closes his eyes, anything just so he won’t see the hurt in those green eyes. It’s a mere brush of their lips, but it’s dizzying, and it’s not just the blood screaming in his ears. 

Klaus opens his mouth to say something but Diego can’t have it; can’t hear any more, won’t allow it. He cups Klaus’ head, delves in for a better kiss, more real this time, and Diego hopes that it says everything that he can’t with words. Klaus makes a noise, a small whine and breaks away but is once more silenced with lips and hot breath and unspoken words. 

“Please-” He’s panting slightly now, but the hurt in his eyes, gods, Diego can’t handle that. He sits on the bed, awkwardly straddling Klaus, and he’s a man on a mission now. He kneels on that fucking coat, Klaus pulls it from underneath his foot and fuck it, fuck Klaus’ coat, fuck his boots that are resting against the covers like it’s not rude and disrespectful, fuck all of it; because nothing makes sense but Diego feels like it never will so why should he even try. So all he can do is kiss Klaus, kiss every word that tries to get out of his mouth, capturing his hands when they come up—no reason, no sense behind his actions. 

He allows himself to be flipped, straddled, and again, that fucking coat, Klaus doesn’t even think to remove it when he pulls at the fabric from underneath them, so Diego manages a muffled  _ “coat” _ against Klaus’ lips but he doesn’t acknowledge it. Finally Klaus abandoned the idea of words, focusing instead on kissing Diego, nipping at his lips to pry them open, drawing his tongue out with a flick of his own against Diego’s lips. They’ve stopped talking, and Diego stopped thinking, stopped trying to stop himself. He doesn’t think when he’s moving his hands from Klaus’ curls to the back of his neck, then lower, across his chest, resting against his taut belly, fingers slipping under the tight, shimmery shirt. 

Klaus is the one to stop then, looking at Diego like he suddenly doesn’t understand. He doesn't understand, so he stops Diego’s hand from going further up from where it’s burning against his skin. 

“What is this, Diego?” And when has that sentence brought anything good? He tries to move, to shut Klaus up again, but is pushed back against the mattress. “What are we even doing-”

_ “Shut. Up.” _   
  
“No, I’m done shutting up. I’m done with this stupid game of yours. You think that now that you’ve discovered your cock-sucking ways, now I’ll fall at your feet?” His mouth, his stupid mouth won’t stop moving, and neither do his hands, now working on Diego’s belt buckle. “Let’s see then. Let’s see just how much you really want this. I’m ready to go wherever you lead me, brother dear; I’m willing to ride you so pretty you won’t think of pussy again. Is that what you want? Is that it?” Diego tries to bat his hands away from where they’re working their way into his briefs, but Klaus doesn’t let up. “Do you want to fuck me, Diego? Is that what you want? To bend me over and fuck me, all repressed and confused; to use me up good and then toss me away?”

Klaus lets out a small laugh when he pulls out Diego’s hardening cock from his pants. “Look at you, you want it. You want me.” He looks satisfied; his grin, his eyes, his words, but Diego knows. He feels the bitterness behind them. “Let’s do this, then.” He scrambles up, works on his own pants, pulling the zipper and he still can’t stop talking and Diego, he still can’t react. He’s caught in a tight space, squeezed between panic and fear and a pressing sense of want, and can’t decide what to do. He reaches for Klaus, and this time he’s the one getting his hands swatted away. 

“No.” Pleading. Sincere. Klaus can’t stop talking. “I want to do this. I want to do this, I want to see how you’ll toss me away again after this. You know you will. You’ve done this before.” Hurt, but he’s not the only one feeling it.

Because— because it wasn’t like that at all. Sure, it was Diego who freaked out, who turned away right after spilling hotly in the circle of Klaus’ fist, hidden under the covers as if seeing it made everything real. He turned away and curled into a pained little ball, trying to hide the tears he was not willing to acknowledge. It was him who finally broke the silence with words he didn’t believe in, words that cut all ties, that cut them deep. A lie, they both knew it. It was also him who, after silence settled against the darkness once more, the lack of response from Klaus more painful than anything he could have said; it was also Diego who asked, “Please don’t go? Please stay.”

But Klaus left. When Diego woke up, he reached behind on instinct and instead of the bony frame he was so used to feeling, there was nothing. And he remembered, and it hurt, and it hurt even more later, when he felt the coldness in how Klaus treated him starting with that day. Klaus left, and took their spark with him. He never returned to Diego’s bed, and Diego never went to Klaus’. In the cold light of morning, even before all that, Diego knew, he knew that’s what would happen. It still hurt when he found it all to be true.

“We were both idiots. We were kids, Klaus.”

“We’re not kids now. Do you want this? Do you really want this? Me?”

The answer was yes, yes of course but it was stuck in Diego’s throat and he hated it. 

“Yes or no. Yes, and I’ll stay. No, and I’ll leave. But if I stay, and then you leave- again. I don’t think I can do this again, not a-”

“Yes. Yes, stay. I’ll stay if you stay.”

At least the words were out, but all Diego could hope for was that they wouldn’t be just words, like last time. Words were easy to put out, way too easy for the amount of chaos they were able to sow. And they both lied before. Diego swore under his breath as he worked to remove the stupid coat off Klaus’ shoulders—why was he still wearing that fucking thing for fuck’s sake—he swore and he looked up, stopping for a beat, fingers caught in the fabric, when his eyes met Klaus’. They stopped and looked at each other for just a second, but then they broke off because it was too much, too honest, too vulnerable. 

“Hurt me, I need you to hurt me.”

“No.”

Klaus looks at him for a second, then starts chuckling. “While you got to the very essence of masochism, that’s not what I’m asking.”

“No, this isn’t about that. I don’t want to hurt you. Do you get that? I don’t want to hurt you.”

They both know what Klaus meant, just as they both understood what Diego said. 

“Not now,” Diego says, aware that he’s leaving open the possibility of other times. “I don’t want that now. I just want you. No pain.”

“Not even the kind that I want?”

He answers in the form of a kiss, fingers wrapped awkwardly around Klaus’ chin, hoping to get the meaning through. No pain. Not again, not if he could help it. 

Getting Klaus out of his too-tight shirt and too-tight pants is a team effort, one that Diego applies himself with perhaps too much force, almost yanking Klaus off the bed a couple of times. He takes off his own clothes himself, standing by the bed, tossing everything on the ground in a puddle, and grins at Klaus’ wolf-whistle as he pulls his t-shirt up and over his head.

“Damn, is this what happens when you live in a gym?”

“Not a gym. And you have to work for it, it doesn’t just happen.”

“Then nevermind. Don’t move.” 

He stays put and Klaus slips off the bed and onto his knees, looking up at him. Finally words seem to be beyond both of them, which is definitely for the better. As many things were floating between them minutes ago, they all seem to have zapped away out of existence. Very few words swirl around Diego’s head, and most of them are interjections, which is great; it would not be the best time for a conversation, what with his own intellect taking a sharp dive once Klaus gets his mouth on his dick, and Klaus’ otherwise occupied mouth.

He knows this bit - as of very recently, from both perspectives - so it should be easier to act than react, but blessedly Diego has to do jack shit. It takes him a few long minutes to feel like he should probably do something with his hands, and he buries his fingers in Klaus’ hair as he remembers a master move, which is to thrust in that lovey, warm mouth. This skews the rhythm that Klaus has set, no doubt a pro one, but he adjusts—again, like a pro—and stills, taking a shallow but rushed facefuck. 

Klaus groans, making Diego moan at the vibration, and then he pushes himself further down, and it’s definitely not easy but he manages in the end, he manages to bump his nose against Diego’s skin.

“Oh  _ fuck.” _ He can feel his balls draw up and a tingle in his cheeks and he opens his eyes wide, curling his fingers in Klaus’ hair.

Klaus pulls away with a gasp, letting a long string of spit hang off his chin, “Don’t you  _ dare _ blow your load already.” Once he’s satisfied that whatever danger he perceived was gone, he goes back but takes charge, with a too-soft grip of his hand and more restrained in his movements. It’s a slow torture, Klaus does nothing for too long and soon abandons the blowjob altogether, turning to bend suggestively over the side of the bed. Once again, Diego’s left, dick in the wind, this time looking at Klaus kneeling by the bed, hands stretched lazily across the mattress. He turns his head, questioningly.

“Is it presumptuous of me to assume that you’ve done this, in one way or another?” 

Not for the first time that evening, Diego’s brain goes completely, utterly empty. No thoughts, he just stands stupid, dick hanging heavy, and he looks at Klaus like he doesn’t know what’s expected of him. He does know, it’s just- 

“Come on; tab A, slot B, it’s not that hard, will you please fuck me?”

He says ‘please’ but it cuts like a curse word, yet Diego ignores it, slowly dropping to his knees behind him, shuffling a bit to bracket Klaus’ legs with his own. He just spits on his hand and jerks himself a couple of times, then attempts to push inside and Klaus goes terribly rigid, nails digging into the sheets. 

“Fuck, oh my god, lube, you caveman! Don’t you have lube in this dumpster?”

Diego stills, trying to remember but no, no lube. “Shit, I’m sorry, we can- we don’t have to-” 

“It’s fine, just - I don’t know. More spit. Go slow. Wait. No.” That’s too many instructions and Diego’s a few steps behind until Klaus slips away and he’s left there, kneeling, holding his dick in his hand and feeling like he’s in the wrong movie altogether. He does have one thought, of which he’s proud and a bit grateful, and he leans down and under the bed, where he, for some reason, keeps his condoms. He tears the foil, trying to figure out which way was in and out, and as he’s rolling it on, as Klaus kneels on the bed and motions for him to join him.

“Lay down, let me.” So he does.

Klaus straddles him and it becomes instantly evident that it’s really not a good idea, because now Diego can look at him. He can see his bony frame, the bravado in his obviously fake smile, and that dizzying depth in his eyes. He takes Diego’s dick in hand, guiding it while squeezing one eye in apparent intense focus, then they both stop and gasp when his cockhead breaches the tight, too dry muscle. 

“Shit. Don’t move, don’t make a sound, give me a second.”

Diego doesn’t dare move, but Klaus does, pushing himself off with a curse, then leaning to spit on Diego’s dick. He tries again, arching his back as he pushes himself down and it’s only marginally easier now, and probably Diego should worry more about the pain but he can’t, not when he feels like he’s drowning. This- this shitshow of an evening started with a fucking blowjob in a bathroom stall, with getting venom-semen in his eye and it seems to culminate with him fucking his brother and for a second, just a second, Diego thinks he should stop. 

He doesn’t.

And neither does Klaus, who’s working himself down, inch by inch, until he’s fully seated and he’s looking down at Diego, and he looks absolutely wrecked.

“You okay?” Diego manages to ask.

He just gets a weak thumbs up but Klaus is not moving, he’s focused on his breathing, and even though they’re as physically close as humanly possible, there’s still an imperceptible wall between them. 

“Come on.” It’s all the warning he gets before Klaus leans back, bracing himself against Diego’s shins, and starts to raise his hips. Diego gets the hint instantly, digging his heels against the mattress and grabbing hold of the pale hips, holding Klaus up as he fucks in, not bothering to stop the grunts that just escape him.

Klaus' moans turn into high whines and Diego can see the edge of pain dissipate into obvious pleasure, and those sounds, they touch him differently. There’s something in them, something needy and fucking sweet, and this time, he doesn’t feel them in his cock, he feels them echo deep in his chest. 

He can’t move the way he wants to, so he slaps Klaus’ thighs. “On your back.” He pretends to not see the mock-salute he gets as Klaus dismounts, flopping on his back. Right, good, much better - he knees his way between those long legs, grabbing them and pushing them up as he slides back in, and once he’s buried to the hilt, he drags out and thrusts back in, sharply. He was right, it was much easier like that, and he focuses on giving Klaus exactly what he’s asking for between curses and moans.

He pulls out, slow, then slides in with a roll of his hips until he’s bottomed out and he finds himself leaning closer, letting go of Klaus’ thighs and resting his weight on his elbows. He stays deep and grinds, rolls his hips and barely withdraws before doing it again and again until Klaus opens his eyes, a fleeting glint of wonder switching instantly into annoyance.

"Fucking- faster, what-”

So Diego kisses him—how did it never occur to him that this would be the perfect way to shut him up—and when he comes back for air, it spills out of him.

“I’m sorry.”

Not about the change of pace, he’s definitely not sorry about that and neither is Klaus judging by the way he’s pushing against the headboard, he’s sorry about- everything else. The overall picture and the smaller details. Sorry for the words he’s said, sorry for pushing away first, for never asking later. Sorry he’s not done this sooner, and how could he possibly put that in a sane way? Luckily, he doesn’t have to, not when Klaus breaks from the kiss, looking at him a touch bewildered.

“We should have done this sooner, I mean, oh my god your dick is magical.”

Klaus kisses him like he's trying to win whatever imaginary competition he thinks they’re in, and Diego smiles as he's cupping his head, holding him still.

"Hey, slow down. Just–" 

When Klaus stops, leaning back against the pillows, staring up at him and panting, Diego pecks along the end of his eyebrow, the corner of his eyes, and mouth, all slow and sweet and gentle. For some reason, it feels right and he keeps doing it, feeling Klaus smile against his lips as he brushes past them again. 

“ ‘s nice.”

“Hm?” Diego asks emboldened, still rocking his hips gently, way too gentle for the heat rumbling deep in the pit of his stomach.

“I would like one orgasm, please?” Klaus croons, and who is Diego to deny him.

His brother, that’s who he is, and it should probably raise a whole different range of questions than it does now but he can’t be bothered to even try. One orgasm, coming right up, he decides, and he thinks that he should maybe lend a not-so-metaphorical hand but Klaus is ahead of him, again, taking a hold of himself and jerking himself fast, clenching his hips in encouragement. Right, that, the fucking part; he’s good at that. 

It doesn't take long before Klaus raises his other hand, resting his palm against Diego’s eyes, and his first instinct is to push the hand away, because hey, he wants to see, that was the best bit, but Klaus attaches words to his actions.

“Better close your eyes this time, cowboy.”

Diego was never one to learn from his mistakes, but this one was painfully different. He squeezes his eyes even though Klaus’ hand does a perfect job of protecting him from any stray demon-semen, and feels him go rigid, all clench and flutter against his cock as he comes with a high-pitched moan, taking Diego right along. The hand covering his eyes drops right as he comes as well, burying himself deep as he spills and pulses, going breathless.

They’re both sticky and gross, and Diego’s fascinated by the mess on Klaus’ stomach, much to his amusement. He says nothing though, sated and smiling and eyeing Diego through a thick fan of lashes. Diego takes a moment to catch his breath, and eventually decides to get up.

“I’m gonna take a shower—care to join? There’s no one around at this time of night. If you, uh, care about these things.”

“No, absolutely not.” Answers Klaus, unclear but final, and he rolls onto his stomach, hugging Diego’s pillow to his chest and closing his eyes. Diego shrugs, makes a mental note to change the sheets and the pillowcase as he takes a towel and heads to the showers.

Klaus is asleep when Diego returns and he doesn’t move an inch even when Diego inadvertently drops shit to the ground while trying to be quiet. He doesn’t move even when the mattress dips and Diego settles in the bed beside him. He’s motionless, apart from his rhythmic breath and how it moves a springy curl that’s falling against his face. 

The shower, quiet and solitary, has given a free-pass for all thoughts to flood back into his head, and all Diego can think of, now that he looks at him, is those words he said long ago—the ones he’d meant. _ ‘Please don’t go. Please stay.’ _

Thing is, he doesn’t need Klaus to stay. He’s doing fine on his own—well, his version of fine, anyway. He’s found a purpose, he has a pretty good idea about who he is and who he wants to be. So he doesn’t  _ need _ Klaus to stay, not like he did when they were teens. But he  _ wants _ him to, and it weighs on him differently.

He can’t sleep. It’s his fucked up circadian rhythm, all out of whack now that he’s doing his night patrols, but it’s also the fact that Klaus— he’s right there. He sleeps and he looks peaceful, and that’s really fucking new; Diego remembers the nightmares he had as a kid, and his restlessness, even in his drugged-out sleep, when he crashed at his place. But he looks at peace now, calm and beautiful in that way that always broke Diego’s heart. 

Klaus was right, Diego never asked how he was. It’s not that he didn’t care, of course he cared. He cared about each and every one of them—yes, even Vanya, in his own way—more than he either could or would say. But Klaus… he’s pushed Diego away before, he’s made it clear that he didn’t need any help. That he could do it on his own, that he didn’t need anyone. Not even Diego. He left in the dead of night those few times when he crashed in the boiler room; he was always gone by morning. 

And maybe that’s another reason why Diego can’t sleep now. He knows this time was different; they’d made it different. So he’s afraid. It’s not a novel feeling for Diego, who’s all rage and fear balled up in leather and knives and self-righteousness. He’s afraid that this time, if Klaus was once again gone by morning, he’d be gone for good. 

He wakes up with a startle, but before his brain has any time to catch up with him, he sees Klaus. He’s already awake, rolled onto his side and eyeing Diego like a hungry cat would their lazy human. He gets a smile, and a hand pulls his face to the side so that Klaus can get a better look at his eyes.

“Mornin’. You have a really shitty bed. Wow, your eye still looks kinda bad; how’s it feel?”

Diego blinks a couple of times and is glad to notice that the vicious pain has dulled somewhat. At least it doesn’t hurt to blink anymore, and that’s a blessing.

“Better. Still hurts though.”

“Well. You’re gonna be okay. And now I  _ really- _ ” Klaus notices that Diego had opened his mouth, trying to say something. “What?”

“I stayed.”

“Of course, dickhead, this is where you live.”

Diego rolls his eyes. “You know what I mean.”

Klaus smiles impishly, then sends Diego a kiss while scrambling over his legs to sit on the side of the bed. He looks through the mess of clothes on the floor and picks his shirt, putting it on and managing to look both hot and stupid at the same time, wearing absolutely nothing but a tight sequined shirt and smudged eyeliner. 

“Fuck. I really, really need to piss. And to brush my teeth, like, wow.”

"The cabinet under the stairs.”

“Hm?”

“There’s toothpaste, the pink toothbrush is yours.”   
  
He gasps. “Diego!”   
  
“What? You’ve always had a toothbrush here, you just never stayed long enough to actually use it.”   
  
“That’s… sweet, really.” He says, as he desperately tugs at one pant leg where it’s stuck barely halfway up his calf. Diego gets up and to the dresser, picking up a pair of sweats and tossing them on Klaus’ lap. He raises them with an exaggerated look of disgust and lets them drop to the floor.

“Ew. No. They don’t compliment this shirt at. all.”

“Get your ass in those sweats or spend the rest of the morning trying to squeeze yourself into whatever you call those." Diego points at the pants of indiscernible fabric that seemed to have shrunk overnight. "It's your choice but you are not pissing on my floors. Actually- wait up. I’ll join you, I need to brush my teeth as well.”

Diego throws on a pair of sweats himself—not exactly clean but they’ll do—and a plain t-shirt, then grabs the toothbrushes and toothpaste and waits for Klaus at the foot of the stairs. 

“Afraid that I’ll take off?”

“No.” He was, just a little.

“Please, like I’d go out in _ sweats.” _

They’re not the only ones at the long row of sinks, so Diego tries to go for efficiency, but Klaus keeps eyeing him in the mirror and it feels like they’re teenagers again, flirting quietly behind Sir’s back. 

“Can it.” He says, spitting out white foam and rinsing his mouth. 

“You know,” says Klaus, getting momentarily distracted by the reflection of an exceptionally well-defined set of abs before continuing, “I stayed too.”

“Hm?”

“This morning. I, like,  _ really _ needed to piss but I waited for you to wake up. So, you know. You wouldn’t think I ran out on you again.”

It’s really hard for Diego to not kiss him right then. Really hard, so he walks out, hoping that Klaus will get the message and follow him. Fortunately, he does.

The smell once Diego slides open the door is a vivid reminder of last night’s activities, and Diego wishes he had real windows for a change.

"How long does it take for you to squeeze into those stupid pants of yours?"

"A lot less with some assistance, why?"

"We should go get breakfast." Klaus always looked like he’s in need of a good meal plus seconds, and after seeing his ribs poke out under his skin, Diego decides to take a more active role in worrying about missed meals.

Klaus mouthed an excited 'yay!' while clapping his hands, already taking off the sweatpants and bracing himself before grabbing his pants. He stops, itching at his stomach and then making an absolutely disgusted face.

“Yeah so I’m going to take a shower first. But then - waffles. Coffee. Gossip about the city's miscreants. Then we get some lube and get back to it. How's it sound?"

"Like a dream." Says Diego, before his brain has time to come up with something snarky. Eh, that’ll do.

"Damn. I wish you'd gotten spunked in the eye years ago."

“Are you ever going to let me live that down?”

Klaus comes up to him, all slow and snake-like, takes a deep inhale as he buries his nose in Diego’s neck, whispering a sweet, “no.”


End file.
